


i can’t see anyone but you

by doespenguinsisgay



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Photographer, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, they’re so sappy it’s embarrassing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 18:05:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16623836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doespenguinsisgay/pseuds/doespenguinsisgay
Summary: Nolan gets a call on a slow Sunday morning as he makes his daily coffee.(or, nolan’s a photographer and nico is his subject)





	i can’t see anyone but you

**Author's Note:**

> psa if you or anyone you know is mentioned above please click away now, it’ll be better for every one involved!!
> 
> hey guys this has literally been in the works since december 2017 bc im. the worst, objectively but it is FINALLY finished! i was gonna wait until december to post but i’m impatient dammit! that being said, thanks for reading and i hope you enjoy :)
> 
> title from i only have eyes for you - the flamingos

Nolan gets a call on a slow Sunday morning as he makes his daily coffee. He braces himself against the counter as the monotone voice on the other end congratulates him on earning a position as the head photographer on an ongoing promotional shoot that a budding clothing company is holding to get themselves off the ground.

 

“Typically, we wouldn’t hire someone so young to take the reins on such a large project. However, your portfolio had certainly proved impressive and we, as a company, agree that you’ll be the best fit for us. Should you accept, you are expected at the office next Monday morning, ten a.m. sharp. We hope the short notice won’t deter you from the position. We’ll have our secretary email you the details. We’re thrilled to be working with you, Mr. Patrick.” Nolan can barely get out a hurried ‘thank you’ in return before the click of the line going dead sounds through his phone. He breathes out once, dizzy with excitement. He almost knocks his glasses off as he brings his phone down from his ear. He calls his mom and maybe cries that morning, because this is his  _ first big shoot.  _ His mom lets him yell his excitement through the receiver and only leaves once her break is over.

 

Nolan finishes making his coffee and sits on the couch of his cramped studio apartment, taking in the reality that had just become his life. And after the excitement settles and he recovers from the impending panic attack that immediately follows, he starts preparing a few ideas so that he isn’t totally lost, come next week.

 

-

 

Monday morning, Nolan wakes up three hours early buzzing with nerves, and ends up binging some show on TLC while gripping the couch cushion in his lap with white knuckles. He meticulously irons his shirt and lint-rolls his dress pants and even cleans his kitchen before it’s  _ finally _ a sensible time to start getting ready. He freaks out in the shower, scrubbing at his skin hard enough that he’ll probably have turned an ugly shade of pink by the time he steps out. He gets dressed in a hurry, brushes his teeth twice, and leaves his apartment with his bag slung over his shoulder with still way too much time on his hands.

 

Nolan stops at his usual coffee place around the corner and orders a medium, despite the last thing he needs being a serving of caffeine to compliment the anxiety curling through his veins. But, if he’s being honest, he currently doesn’t have the mental capacity to think about his poor decision making at the moment.

 

He shivers as he leaves the warmth of the cafe, tiny white flakes now coming down gently onto the sidewalk. He regrets not bringing a coat, but he doesn’t dwell on it as he moves in a brisk walk down the sidewalk. He admires the look of the snow coming down against the backdrop of the city, considers taking out his camera, but ultimately decides against it as he jogs down the steps of the nearest subway station.

 

He makes it to the office building in record breaking time, and is thankful that he had gotten there early because it takes him ten minutes to work up the courage to walk through the front doors, sleek plexiglass looming over his pathetic form standing helplessly on the sidewalk. He can feel his palms starting to sweat around his paper coffee cup. Surrounded by men in sharp suits and women in loud heels and pencil skirts, Nolan can’t help but feel overwhelmed and a bit underdressed, in his Jets tie and dress pants that are a little too tight. The confidence coursing through the building is suffocating, but he takes it in stride, pushing his shoulders back and heading towards the front desk, just like the email had said to do.

 

“Hello, I’m here for the photography position with BroadStreet.” He says to the secretary, who’s in the middle of shoving a bite of salad into his mouth, despite it being not even ten in the fucking morning, when Nolan approaches. He nods, holding a finger up as he finishes chewing.

 

“Right,” The secretary swallows, wiping his hands off on a discarded napkin and straightening up in his seat. “Nolan Patrick, you’re gonna have to show me some I.D.” Once Nolan fumbles with his wallet and manages to let the card slip from his clammy hands twice, he finally flashes the secretary his card. “A mullet, really?” The man’s eyes drift judgmentally between Nolan and his card, before typing something into his keyboard with enough force that Nolan worries the keys are about ready to snap off. “I’m just gonna need you to stand still and-“ In lightning speed, the secretary raises a cheap digital camera from a drawer low on his desk and snaps a picture, catching Nolan completely off guard. He can already feel his ears burning bright red. “What’s wrong? Not like getting your picture taken or something?”

 

“You could say that.” Nolan shrugs, starting to feel anxious, his fingers twitching around the strap of his bag as he watches the ancient printer spit out what he thinks is his company badge. He subtly checks his watch, and  _ fuck _ he’s barely gonna make it, provided he doesn’t get lost. The secretary clears his throat, sliding the badge across the marble counter.

 

“Floor 12, elevators are down the hall and to your left. My name’s Travis, if you need anything else.” The secretary, Travis, flashes him a superficial smile, which oddly calms Nolan’s nerves a little. “Like the tie, by the way. Not my personal pick, but I can respect it.” He calls after him as Nolan practically flies towards the elevators, to which he tosses back a ‘thanks’ over his shoulder.

 

The elevator ride is cramped and  _ really,  _ can these doors open any slower? He steps out onto the floor and books it to the front desk, where another dark-haired man sits, staring intently at his computer screen. Before he can say anything, however, a smooth, accented voice calls his name.

 

“Mr. Patrick! It is so good to have you. My name is Claude Giroux, I’m the founder of this company. We’re so glad to have you on this project with us. Your work is quite impressive.” The owner of the voice, a dashing man with a neatly trimmed beard and a well-fitted, navy blue suit, greets him with a charming smile.  _ My boss,  _ Nolan thinks to himself,  _ noted. _

 

“It’s an honor to have been selected, Mr. Giroux.” Nolan shakes the outstretched hand in front of him once his boss reaches him. He- Claude? Mr. Giroux?- leads him around the corner and out into the studio, which is a whole other level of chaos. People are bustling across the floor, hauling equipment and clothing and papers. It’s- a lot, to say the least.

 

“We have some equipment that you can feel free to use, but you can also use your own if you’d like.” Claude begins to explain, gesturing to the elaborate set up in the center of the room that probably costs more than Nolan’s entire life’s savings. “Our supervisor will probably give you some direction with staging, etc., but you pretty much have complete creative liberty with the photography.” Which,  _ holy shit,  _ that’s new. Nolan’s never had that kind of freedom, but he also has never worked on a project as big as this. “We liked your vision, and we knew it’d fit with what we are hoping to portray, so I trust you’ll make the right decisions.” Nolan just nods, eyes wide, and tries to take everything in. “There are a few different models on the project, but you will most likely be spending the most time with Nico Hischier, are you familiar with him?”

 

“Oh, uh, no, sorry.” Nolan replies, picking at the sleeve of his cup, trying his best to hold professional eye contact with Claude, which proves difficult when you’re on the verge of flat out vibrating. His boss shakes his head in response, and continues on.

 

“I didn’t think so, but I just thought I would ask. He’s quite well known around Europe. Come, I’ll introduce you.” He follows Claude, and quickly realizes who he’s talking about.

 

There’s a man about his age, being tended to by a sturdy man who’s sweeping a large makeup brush over his cheekbones. He’s, like, oddly but intimidatingly gorgeous. Before he realizes it, Nolan’s cup slips from his grip, colliding with the ground with an anticlimactic  _ pop _ as the lid comes off, coffee spilling across the floor.

 

“I- shit, sorry, let me just-“ Nolan begins rooting around in his bag for napkins when Claude holds up a hand and Nolan freezes. His boss opens his mouth to say something, looking completely unphased, when someone else speaks in his place.

 

“Are you okay?” A sweet voice with a thick accent asks, and when Nolan looks, it’s Nico Hischier, who’s gotten up from his chair and is making his way towards the spill. The makeup artist looks mildly annoyed, but doesn’t say anything.

 

“Wha- yeah, yes, I’m fine. Thank you.” Nolan can feel his face heating up, and he knows he’s blushing obnoxiously.

 

“Heather, get someone to clean this up, please.” Claude calls out to who Nolan assumes is an assistant. He turns back to the young photographer. “Don’t worry about it, it happens to the best of us.” Claude says with a genuine smile, which almost cools the buzzing under Nolan’s skin. Almost. “This,” He gestures to model, who has since been bullied back into the chair and is now getting something being brushed across his eyebrows(which Nolan finds odd, considering those brows are powerful enough on their own), “is Nico Hischier.” Nico smiles, a pretty thing that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, reaching his hand out as best he can without moving his head.

 

“Pleasure to meet you.” The model greets kindly, as Nolan shakes his hand. The grip is surprisingly firm coming from such dainty fingers.

 

“Nico, this is Nolan Patrick. He’ll be your head photographer.” Nolan waves awkwardly, putting on a small, timid smile with, if he had to guess, bright pink cheeks.

 

“Nice to meet you, too.” He finally replies, scratching at the back of his head. Claude claps a hand on Nolan’s shoulder, startling him a bit.

 

“Well, I should take Mr. Patrick here to meet the artistic advisor. You two will have plenty of time to get to know each other in the following month. Plus, I can tell Taylor is itching for us to leave his model alone.” Claude winks at the makeup artist, who is shuffling through his bag, grumbling to himself. Nolan lets himself be whisked away, but not after a quick wave to Nico.

 

“Nice meeting you, Nolan!” The photographer can feel the final bits of color painting his cheeks bleed together over the bridge of his nose and down the back of his neck. The entire beginning of the conversation with the project manager is spent in a failing attempt to will his face back to a normal, passable color.

 

“Once Nico is done with makeup, I would suggest taking advantage of the city in its prime. This, afterall, is a line catering to winter fashion, so the snow would be a nice touch.” Wayne, the artistic advisor, tells him expertly and Nolan just soaks up every word, not daring to speak until he’s sure Wayne is done. When the two men look at him expectantly is when he provides his input.

 

“Right, I was definitely hoping to make use of the natural light today. It’s just the right amount of not-cloudy.” Nolan replies, wincing at his clunky choice of wording. He’s saved from stewing in his own awkwardness and the expectation to say more by Nico appearing beside Claude. Nolan can’t help but let his gaze catch on the bit of sparkle along the model’s cheekbones.

 

“You absolutely  _ cannot _ get anything on the clothes. It’ll be coming out of your paycheck if they come back with a mere particle of dirt on them, okay?” Claude says seriously, dazzling smile wiped from his face in a way that makes him appear all the more intimidating than he had already been, and he has Nolan fooled for about two seconds before said smile twists its way back onto his face. “I’m just kidding, we have hundreds of extra pieces in case anything happens. In case you haven’t noticed, Mr. Patrick, we aren’t all too serious here at BroadStreet.” Claude gives him another pat to the shoulder and walks in the direction of his office.

 

Wayne waves them off soon after, Nico towards the dressing rooms and Nolan towards the equipment. The photographer lets himself ogle at the expensive lenses laid out neatly in their cases, fingertips grazing over the buttons on the nearest one. Once he’s settled into the position, then he’ll get his hands on these, he’d be a fool not to. Nolan’s looking at every photographer’s wet dream. Today, though, he’ll stick to his own trusty camera and lens that look so mediocre next to the gadgets displayed in front of him. He moves to survey the wide studio lights and narrowly misses bumping into Nico, who’s now shrugging on a long grey overcoat, over a simple, all-black sweater and slacks combo. He looks really, really good. Nolan should have expected this.

 

“Hey, I’m ready to go if you are, but no rush if you want to look a little bit longer.” Nico gestures to the equipment, soft smile gracing his lips. Nolan shakes his head and grips the strap of his messenger bag, clenching and unclenching his fists nervously.

 

“That’s okay, we can go now.” Nico nods, turning to the elevators, looking over his shoulder in an unfairly handsome way to make sure Nolan follows. And he does, he doesn’t know if there’s a world that he wouldn’t go right along. “You look good, very stylish.” Nolan blurts, only adding the second part in attempt to save some of his dignity. It seems to work, earning a friendly grin from the model next to him.

 

“Yeah, it’s in the job description.” He jokes as he steps into the elevator, drawing a short, ugly laugh from the photographer for it. Nico suddenly frowns at Nolan’s shoulders, tilting his head. “Will you be warm enough?”

 

“I sure hope so.” He responds, as the elevator doors slide closed, face hot and undoubtedly back to being a blotchy red.

 

-

 

As it turns out, Nico Hischier is some kind of angel or something. He’s funny and charismatic and devastatingly handsome, a killer combination that Nolan isn’t quite sure he’ll survive being around almost every day for the next two months.

 

With every smolder at the camera, there’s an accompanying giggle once the shutter has clicked an excessive amount of times, as snowflakes float down to stick to Nico’s eyelashes and settle into his hair. With every picture taken, Nolan’s heart grows two sizes. It’s kind of the worse.

 

They spend the first few days feeling each other out, discussing safe topics and giving mild opinions in turn, but they’re easily some of the best days like, ever, in Nolan’s book. He gets to spend the whole day with a stunning model, getting to know him, all while snapping pictures of him in the forefront of a gorgeous, snow-cloaked, urban background. It’s easy, too, Nico’s a natural and Nolan doesn’t have to say more than a few vague hand gestures and a weak explanation for him to understand what he’s being directed to do. It’s good for Nolan, for whom words aren’t his strong suit.

 

On the fourth day, when the snow is coming down a little bit harder than comfortable and the wind goes from nips to bites, Nolan leads them into a warm, rustic cafe that makes Nico chuckle a little as they stomp the snow out from the soles of their shoes.

 

“This is so hipster, I’m not even surprised.” He comments, looking around at the brick walls and bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Nolan just shrugs, because he knows its true.

 

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” He shoots back, reaching into the pocket of his coat and producing his wallet. They order and pay quickly, settling down at a corner table near the window and shrugging their coats off onto the backs of their chairs. The wind seeps through the caulking that lines the glass a little, but neither of them seem to mind. Nolan watches as Nico takes a hesitant sip from his mug, the tips of his ears and nose a graceful pink from the cold. “Well?”

 

“This is lovely.” Nico admits, because he actually says shit like  _ lovely _ and ruins Nolan’s life on a daily basis, but he sounds genuine, so the photographer will take it. He nods smugly, sipping at his own, comfortably bitter drink.

 

“Told you.” Nolan grins, fiddling with his phone as Nico stares out the window, watching the people bustle by with hunched shoulders and thick coats, eyes content and chin resting in the palm of his hand. He can’t help but take a picture of the man across from him, just with the camera on his phone. Whatever, it isn’t weird if he posts it. Nico notices the phone camera at the last second, attempting to bury his face into his sleeve, but the picture saves before he can do so. Nolan almost thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him when he notices the flush spreading across his face. “Dude, you’re kidding me. You’re a literal model, you aren’t camera shy.”

 

“I’m not in my  _ mindset, _  you caught me off guard!” Nico shrugs bashfully, busying himself with folding the remains of a sugar packet he had left on the table. Nolan worries his bottom lip between his teeth, knowing how it feels to have cameras pointed at you when you’d rather them not be, so he’s a little sorry. He’d be more sorry if Nico didn’t look as pretty as he did in the shot.

 

“Sorry, the lighting is just really good in here, I couldn’t help myself.” He confesses, swiping through the filters and landing on a cute Brooklyn tag. When he looks up again, Nico has a soft smile on his face, a gentle blush clinging to his cheeks. The moment feels slower than it actually is, but Nico hurries it along as he looks down quickly, swallowing another bit of coffee.

 

“At least send it to me, then. I’ll post it to the ‘gram.” He jokes, when he sets his mug down once again. The heaviness in the air dissipates at that, replaced by a lighter, floatier feeling that doesn’t leave Nolan missing the weight all too much. He just rolls his eyes and posts it to his story, finally setting his phone down.

 

“Just screenshot it, weirdo.” Nico laughs sweetly at that, kicking Nolan’s ankle harmlessly under the table.

 

-

 

Unfortunately there are days that Nolan has to shoot with other models, and sure they’re great and they know what they’re doing, but he really likes Nico. It’s easy, spending time with him.

 

When he meets one of the other models, a Swede with nice cheekbones and tired eyes, the man introduces himself as Jesper and seems to recognize Nolan once he returns the introduction.

 

“Yeah, I‘ve heard a lot about you. Hisch doesn’t shut up about you.” Jesper teases, smiling kindly at the photographer, seemingly unaware of how that sentence just single handedly ruined Nolan’s life. His cheeks go warm and he fiddles with the lens cap on his camera.

 

“Nico doesn’t shut up in general.” The same makeup artist from Nolan’s first day adds, in a stark but obviously fond tone. Taylor, Nolan had learned, is big on tough love. Nico always describes him as his second, perpetually aloof mother. Apparently they’d worked on other projects together when Nico was just starting out.

 

“All good things, I hope.” Nolan remarks shyly, tucking all of the possible things Nico could have said about him into the back of his brain for later consideration. Jesper just nods distractedly, scrolling through his phone as he gets doused in hairspray.

 

-

 

They make a habit out of swinging by the same cafe after the days they spend in the city, to escape the cold. Nolan doesn’t make too much of it- well, that’s a total lie. Their platonic coffee dates are on his mind most of his time spent away from Nico, but that’s besides the point. After a couple of long, late night, in depth analyses, he decides not to read too much into them.

 

That is until Nico invites him for coffee after a day spent inside, mainly going through the material they’d already gotten and some consultation with Wayne. They do get some shots under the professional lighting, that way they can go through multiple outfits in one shoot, Nolan finally playing around with some of the expensive equipment the company had offered. He can’t stop talking about it as he packs up his things, Nico listening intently as he hangs back, already in his street clothes.

 

“Nol, I’m very interested in what you’re saying, but are we still on for coffee? I’d rather continue the conversation there than in the office.” He asks, looking a little nervous. Nolan’s brain replays the question as he scans the rapidly emptying office, getting stuck on the nickname a few times. He just nods, clicking the buckles in place on his bag, ducking under the strap. Nico grins, pulling on his coat. “Sweet. Okay, continue.”

 

Nolan goes on and on about the lenses he got to try, gushing about different technicalities and mechanics, as he follows Nico out of the building and onto the street. They make it about a block before the photographer realizes he’s probably boring Nico half to death. He stops in the middle of his sentence, risking a quick glance up at his friend.

 

“Sorry, I’m rambling. This is probably so lame.” Nolan apologizes awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. Nico’s eyebrows tilt upwards a little, shaking his head.

 

“No, no, don’t worry about it. It’s cool, honestly. I think it’s cute, how excited you are about it. I like listening to people talk about what they’re passionate about.” Nico assures him, dodging a lamp post that causes him to step closer to Nolan, making the photographer go even redder than he already is.

 

Nico called him  _ cute. _

 

“Are you sure?” He double checks, making intent eye contact with the orange hand on the other side of the crosswalk, letting his toes peek over the curb. Nico nods confidently, shoving his hands further into his pockets.

 

“Positive.”

 

-

 

Nolan is very aware of the moment Nico suggests they hang out outside of work, heart hammering against his ribcage as the model distractedly talks about some restaurant on the dock that he loves, that he takes his sisters to when they’re in town.

 

“Oh, Nol, you’d love it. We should go this weekend! Are you free on Saturday?” Nolan can see the idea forming in his head, peeking through the glint in his eyes and the quirk of his lips. He nods, because he doesn’t have the heart to tell Nico that he doesn’t even really like seafood. It doesn’t matter, though, he’ll take any excuse to spend time with Nico. Maybe he should be paying attention to that.

 

He meets Nico at the foot of his apartment building that weekend, pretending like he hadn’t just spent the past twenty minutes freaking out over his hair, or his outfit. Nico looks so, so good, as always, bundled up in a heavy green sweater, jeans rolled up at the ankles. Nolan doesn’t look past that detail, he’ll admit he’s a Twitter Gay, he knows what that could mean. Nolan doesn’t look past any detail revolving around Nico these days.

 

“You look so nice!” Nico gushes, tugging gently at the collar of Nolan’s jacket, a nice, wool coat he had splurged on the first time he’d a booked a job after moving here. It had hardly paid, just a few engagement photos, but a job’s a job’s a job. 

 

Nolan’s cheeks go warm, smiling shyly at a random patch on Nico’s shoulder. It isn’t anything to make a big deal out of, Nico’s tactile and super into fashion, but Nolan’s heart doesn’t listen to him as it takes off in a sprint. “Your glasses! You’re like Harry Potter, or something.” He grins, stepping closer to the photographer to let his fingers trace along the sides of the wide, round frames, accidentally brushing against Nolan’s temple. His hands are warm enough that he has to suppress a shiver.

 

“Very original, no one’s ever made that connection before.” Nolan teases, squeezing at Nico’s elbow and stepping back a tad. “We should probably go? You mentioned a reservation, so.” The model seems to remember the time crunch they’re on, and snaps out of trying to memorize the lines of Nolan’s face. That’s a train of thought that will be reserved for later. Nico takes a large step back, holding out his arm.

 

“Shall we?” Nolan rolls his eyes at the model but tucks his hand into the crook of Nico’s elbow anyway and lets himself be pulled down the street.

 

-

 

The food is amazing, despite Nolan not being a fan of seafood, and the view is even better. The sun hangs low in the goldening sky, over glittery grey waters that pull back and crash forward against the concrete bay below them. The smell of saltwater and crisp seasoning swims through the restaurant and makes Nolan’s mouth water even after they’ve finished their meal.

 

Nolan can’t help but notice how, for lack of a better word, romantic the dinner is, seated across from Nico next to a huge window, elbows resting on a smooth white tablecloth. Sometimes, when Nico is laughing particularly hard, he’ll cover his mouth with one hand, the other reaching across the table to grip Nolan’s forearm, the movement so natural that an outsider looking in would think they’ve known each other for years, instead of a few weeks.

 

When the check comes, Nico insists that he pays, despite Nolan’s stubborn protests. Eventually he gives in, as the crease in the model’s eyebrows sets, which is a telltale sign that Nolan is going to lose this battle. Nico sighs, tucking his card against the paper bill. “No way, this was my idea. I’m not going to make you pay for my suggestion.”

 

“Guess I’ll just have to take you out somewhere else,” Nolan blurts, startling himself with how smooth he had sounded. Nico goes bright red, but smiles through it and shrugs.

 

“Guess so.”

 

-

 

They end up on the docks just outside of the restaurant after they pay, leaning against the cold metal railing above the water. Their shoulders are pressed snugly together, in an attempt to keep warm from the bitter wind. The sun is just about to kiss the horizon, blanketing the world in a brilliant yellow hue. Nolan looks over at Nico and kind of wants to tuck his face into the curve of Nico’s neck. Nico begins to turn his head, and Nolan forces his gaze forwards, getting lost in the way the waves roll over themselves as they climb closer and closer towards the wooden platform. When he spares a glance back at the model, a phone is positioned in front of his face, camera pointed at him.

 

Nolan’s heart skips a beat, immediately ducking away as to not get caught in the picture. Nico startles and lets out a loud, bright laugh, still clutching the phone in his hands.

 

“Dude, delete that.” Nolan doesn’t even try to keep the blatant whine out of his voice, which cracks embarrassingly on the second syllable. Nico laughs even harder, tilting his head back and it’s a shame that Nolan is so flustered that he can’t appreciate the way he looks right now.

 

“Never! What, you’re camera shy?” Nico teases gently, nudging Nolan with his elbow. The photographer’s face feels hot all over, his shoulders creeping up involuntarily until he’s full on cringing. Nolan buries his red face into his hands, groaning, admittedly, a bit overdramatically.

 

“Yes, I probably look awful, now delete it.” He begs, dragging his hands down his face. Nico frowns, looking down at his phone.

 

“But you’re so handsome.” The warmth that blooms fresh in Nolan’s chest means nothing, no amount of flattery will soften the sheer betrayal he is experiencing right now. He says as much, and Nico rolls his eyes. “You are so overdramatic, I’m keeping these pictures.” Nolan sighs, defeated, pressing his face into Nico’s shoulder.

 

“You’re cruel, Neeks.” He complains, voice muffled by the wool of Nico’s sweater. The model sighs, wrapping an arm around Nolan’s middle to pull him closer. Slowly, Nolan raises his head to look at Nico, who is now much, much closer than before, their noses almost touching. He holds his breath, feeling swallowed by warm, brown eyes. The moment hangs in the air between them, pressed together and wrapped in gold, watching each other carefully. Nolan makes an executive decision, he’s going to kiss him. He’s just going to lean in and-

 

Nico’s phone rings, loud and brash, shattering the silence between them, the edges of the opportunity slipping through Nolan’s fingertips. His heart sinks as Nico frowns apologetically, stepping away from him to check his phone. When he returns, they fall back into the easy rhythm of conversation. The rest of the evening passes enjoyably, yet painfully uneventful. Nolan can’t help but feel like he might have missed his chance.

 

-

 

They spend more and more time together, during work and outside of it. Nolan has to work with other models more frequently now, as per Wayne’s request, to give some variety to their gallery. Nico still manages to find him, on days where Nolan is contained to the office for a shoot, talking his ear off until Taylor whisks him away to finish up Nico’s makeup. Nolan thinks that the model could go into shoots with nothing on his face and still smoke every other model in the catalog. Nolan gets paid to take pictures, though, not provide his cosmetic opinions.

 

Nico finally comes over to Nolan’s milkcrate of an apartment on a Sunday. They order takeout and stretch across the couch as a Hallmark movie drags on from the television screen. Nolan, being the twelve year old boy that he is at heart, fakes a yawn, about twenty minutes into the movie, stretching an arm over the back of the couch. It isn’t his proudest moment, but it proves successful when his fingertips brush against Nico’s shoulder, who just sighs and melts into Nolan’s side, pressing his cheek into the fabric of his hoodie. Nolan holds his breath for the rest of the night.

 

-

 

Nolan finally caves on a Tuesday afternoon in the city, when they’re finishing up their final outdoor shots, Nico all dolled up in a heavy, navy blue coat, dark red scarf wrapped gently around his neck. The sun sits high, but clouds blanket the sky to dull the harsh white light, making Nolan’s job so much easier. The snow on the ground sparkles around them as Nico looks away from the camera for a profile shot, sharp jaw curving above his scarf. The scarlet yarn compliments the milky skin of his neck and rosy pink of his cheeks perfectly, and Nolan has to clutch his camera a little tighter to still his shaking fingers.

 

As soon as Nolan lowers the camera, Nico glances back at him, wide smile stretching across his face. He steps down from the ledge he had been standing on and makes his way towards the other side of the bridge they’re occupying, stepping close to the photographer to get a look at the new pictures. Nolan tilts the camera towards him as he clicks through, but he isn’t really focused on the images sliding across his screen. He can’t help but shiver at the warmth of Nico’s arm pressed against his own, watching out of the corner of his eye as little puffs of air pass Nico’s lips or tumble from his nose each time he takes a breathe.

 

The pictures are really stunning, Nolan had realized this while taking them. Nico in the forefront, hands tucked into the pockets of the coat casually, chin brushing his scarf as he looks to the side, the pale lines of his nose sharp against the blurry, evergreen backdrop of the pine trees perpendicular to the stone bridge, branches draped in pearly snow. The corner of his mouth facing the camera is quirked up ever so gently.

 

Nolan can’t take it anymore. He lets his camera drop against his sweater, the weight tugging at the strap around his neck, in favor of burying his hands into Nico’s scarf, pulling him close until they’re nose to chilly nose. Snowflakes begin to dot Nico’s cheeks as he finally,  _ finally _ presses their lips together, kissing Nico slow and sweet.

 

He does his best not to get lost in the warmth of Nico’s lips as he listens carefully for footsteps along the path, but it’s all over once Nico reaches up to hold Nolan’s face between his hands, tilting his head just right. The photographer finally pulls away, dropping his hands to the model’s hips. Nolan can feel the heat in his own cheeks as he glances up at Nico, who is watching him with honey brown eyes.

 

“Sorry I just-“ Nolan begins, but trails off, heat rising in his face to color his face darker than Nico’s scarf, unable to form any coherent thoughts past  _ I just kissed Nico, Nico kissed back.  _ “I like you? You’re just really nice to be around and I kind of want to keep doing what we’re doing after this project ends, except, like, maybe more hand holding or something. ”

 

“You’re sweet, Nolan Patrick.” Nico tells him fondly, pressing a featherlight kiss to the photographer’s frigid nose. He slides his hands down Nolan’s neck and rests them on his shoulders, fingers toying with the camera strap under the collar of his coat, the same coat he had been wearing on their sort-of-date. “I would love to have more hand holding… or something.” He echoes Nolan’s words back to him, hint of teasing ever present through his tone.

 

“Cool, cool, yeah. Can I kiss you again?” Nolan manages, tightening his grip on the model’s waist, his numb fingers just barely picking up the scratch of the wool. Nico sighs, all put upon, but Nolan can see right through it, to the way he’s trying to smother the dopey smile peaking through.

 

“Yeah, yeah, make it quick, we’re in public.” Nico teases playfully, but goes willingly when Nolan ducks his head in and pulls him in to slot their lips together once again.

 

-

 

When the catalog finally gets printed, Nolan first sees it when he unrolls it from his mailbox, sliding the rubberband over the glossy cover of the magazine as he abandons the rest of the mail on his kitchen counter. _ BroadStreet _ is printed in thin white letters at the top of the front cover. In the lower right corner, in small, neat text, reads:  _ Shot by Nolan Patrick _ . He smiles, heart skipping a beat as he runs his thumb over the words. The next thing he notices is the cover, orange logo laid over top of the five models involved in the project, standing in a line, leaning casually over each other. Nico stands in the center, looking good as ever.

 

Speaking fondly of the devil, arms twine around Nolan’s waist as he stares down at the catalog in his hands, a chin coming to rest in the curve of his neck.

 

“Hey there, handsome.” A low voice, thick with accent, mumbles in his ear, lips brushing against the shell of Nolan’s ear. Nolan’s heart snaps at his rib cage, even after three months of dating and being embarrassingly sappy and falling in love, Nico still makes him feel as giddy as he had that first day.

 

“Morning, there’s fresh coffee on the counter. Sugar’s next to the pot.” Nolan tells him, dropping a hand to Nico’s forearms, which overlap over Nolan’s stomach. Nico tightens his hold, sighing heavily through his nose.

 

“But I have all of the sugar I need right here.” He slurs, and Nolan can feel the grin pressed into his shoulder through his thin shirt. The photographer leans his head against Nico’s temple, before the model slips away, probably to get his daily fix of caffeine. “What’s that?” He asks, pouring himself a mug as he nods towards the catalog.

 

“BroadStreet finally printed.” Nolan grins, flipping to the first page and met with a wide, two-pager of Nico smoldering at the camera. Maybe Nolan should save this for a rainy day, for when Nico is away for work. “Oh my god, Neeks.” Nolan offers weakly.

 

“You make me look good, Nol, that lighting is doing me so many favors.” Nico says into his mug, leaning against the counter, but Nolan disagrees. Nico looks just as good in the magazine as he does in the pale morning light of his kitchen, still soft from sleep. They flip through the glossy pages together while settled at Nolan’s compact kitchen table, sipping at their coffee, shoulders pressed together and socked feet tangled.

 

Nolan is over the moon with the final product, the editors were able to capture what he’d envisioned perfectly, every filter and balance of color and fade matching the tone of the shoot completely. Wayne really killed it with every choice he’d made, right down to the font.

 

Working for BroadStreet had really been a dream, with all of the freedom he’d been given and the pretty penny he’d made to simply take pictures of people who made his life easy and knew how to work the camera, he couldn’t have asked for anything more. And the fact that the position had granted him the opportunity to meet Nico, who he had so easily fallen in love with, it made his chest ache with gratitude for the company.

 

“Nolan? You still with me?” Nico asks in his ear, voice gentle, chin resting on his shoulder. The last page lays open on the table in front of them, the shot from that afternoon in the park, when Nolan had finally,  _ finally _ grown a pair and sparked the beginning of one of the best things to ever happen to the photographer. It was one of the candids that ended up in the catalog, Nico’s eyes crinkled a little from the cold as a small smile had begun to take over his face, and Nolan loves it even more than the serious one he’d taken.

 

“Yeah, I’m here.” He finally responds, reaching for Nico’s upturned palm. “It’s just kind of wild, if it weren’t for this this magazine, I’d never have met you.” He voices the thought before it even fully passes through his head, adjusting his glasses with his free hand. Nico squeezes the fingers interlaced between his, humming noncommittally.

 

“But we did meet.” He replies simply, running a thumb over Nolan’s knuckles. “Big soft guy,” Nico teases, turning a cheeky smile in Nolan’s direction that makes his heart tumble in his chest.

 

“Yeah, but you love it.” He reminds him sweetly, pressing a firm kiss to the corner of Nico’s mouth. The model, in turn, kisses him straight on, lips moving lazily against his own for a few moments, caught up in the feeling of each other.

 

“You’re right, I really do.” Nico says when they pull away, brushing his lips over the space between Nolan’s eyebrows before rising from his seat. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He tells him, and Nolan grins, heart feeling like it’s going to burst.

 

“And you say I’m the sap,” He sounds giddy, even in his own ears, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Nolan moves to refill his mug and Nico pulls the last of the eggs out of the fridge, falling into their usual morning routine. The catalog lays abandoned on the empty table as they move around the apartment, in their own rhythm. Nolan is happy as can be, head swimming with thoughts of warm brown eyes and velvety inflection as he watches the one for him slot perfectly into his kitchen, his life, as if he was always meant to be there to begin with.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a tumblr!! come yell with me about hockey boys: [starryandersen](https://starryandersen.tumblr.com/)


End file.
